I met the love of my life, Anton, when he was 28 years, in October 2024, and we fell in love. We were looking forward to a future together, where wanted to spend our lives together, build a family, and have children. 

He lost his life due to a medically induced accident. Doctors at a psychiatric hospital in Turku had been prescribing him strong medications since his early twenties. Over time, this was followed by additional illnesses caused by the medications. They did not offer him therapy. He had already been taking these medications for several years when I met him. Among them were lithium, two sleeping pills, and other medications.

Anton was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in his early twenties, and he was medicated on the very first day he opened up about his life to a doctor at the public psychiatric hospital in Turku.

We lived in different countries, and because we met online, the only thing we could do at first was talk. That is why I got to know him so well. Once he told me that, even though he knew many people, he couldn’t talk to anyone the way he talked to me. This made me wonder, because for me—and in my environment—it is normal to talk openly about feelings and psychological subjects. I wondered whether it might be different in Finland, whether mental health topics were still somewhat taboo, because mental health care isn’t as widely developed or varied as it is in Germany, and seeing a therapist regularly isn’t as normal in Finland as it is for most of the people in Germany.

Anton was a DJ and producer, and he was looking forward to coming to Berlin. He had found a record label there and was excited about his future.

He seemed very happy and full of life. He was getting healthier and stronger, and everyone—including myself—thought he was finally on a health path and back on track.

I remember his voice during our last call: how fulfilled he sounded, full of enthusiasm, love, compassion, and hope. He was truly looking forward to his life and seeing me!

Unfortunately, he lost his life very suddenly, to everyone’s surprise. It came like out of nowhere. It must have been a true shock for him.

He suffered an attack and collapsed.

He was seeing a doctor weekly and had undergone several medical tests about a week before he died. In consultation with his doctors, he had begun to reduce one of his medications.

Despite the tests, the doctors did not take his health situation or the symptoms caused by the medications seriously.

I did not know the full picture, and Anton himself was not fully aware either. He had been taking these medications since early adulthood, so it had become normal to him. He had lived with them for almost his entire adult life.

Instead of taking his life and his suffering seriously, and instead of addressing the symptoms caused by the medications, the doctors still  continued to prescribe more medication.

When I later saw on paper, after his death, about the amount and dosage of the medications he had been prescribed, it felt super unrealistic and unreal to me.

Although he began reducing one medication in consultation with a doctor, the help came too late.

Even today, what still feels unreal and deeply troubling to me is that severe, high-risk medications are often prescribed as the only treatment for mental health issues—even when psychological support could help.

Anton was the softest, most genuine person I have ever known. His death struck me like lightning.

It took me many months to realize what had happened, because it felt surreal—not only to me, but to everyone around him and I am sure including him.

Because of this, I had to do extensive research to understand what happened. And I had been going through tremendous pain of grief.

I am still processing it.

The doctors did not reach out to his parents, were unreachable afterward, and offered no condolences—even though he had been seeing them weekly.

I tried to reach them too, but I was not even allowed to speak to them either.

Everything feels very opaque and unrealistic, almost like something from the Middle Ages, when people didn’t know how to treat illnesses—except now it’s about mental illnesses.

But I had to come to terms with the fact that this is the reality in Finland.

I do not know anyone in my environment in Berlin who has ever been prescribed so many medications or even died on them.

I do not know anyone who, for a psychological illness, was prescribed such a concerning and dangerous dosage of several strong medications. Many of his medications were prescribed in the highest amounts which is are even allowed for an adult. Anton was treated like a criminal, but in fact he was the most genuine and soft person I have ever met and known. He was the friendliest and the funniest I knew, we loved each other much.

I don’t know why he was treated that way, and it felt like there was no thoughtful approach behind it. It was just what the doctors had learned at university about how to treat bipolar disorder. But he had never been exposed to or introduced to therapy, and I still can’t believe this. In Germany, and in other countries like the United States, it is completely normal to see a therapist regularly. There are so many therapists in Germany that many even have long waiting lists, which shows how effective therapy is and how much people like and see the positive effect of opening up about their feelings and truth to someone they can trust and is not telling it forward. 

I am sure in Berlin this wouldn´t have had happened. But it did happen in Turku, which is one of the biggest cities in Finland.

I cant believe how different mental health and psychological problems are be treated in Europe Union depending in which country you are.

I wish I would have understood  and see that and everything earlier. I wish I could have helped him earlier. 

I am 100 percent certain that Anton’s life could have been saved if therapy had been introduced to him from the very beginning.